Tag: Poetry

The Death of Adam: A Kaddish

Adam is dead and I eat Greek yogurt in my office between classes. Adam is dead and I reply to emails requesting recommendations. I purchase Iron and Wine tickets for their November show on South Beach. I buy Band of…

Forever, or Whatever

Poetry by Elaina M. Ellis

1.

Can a free-write about marriage be free or is it an oxymoron?
Marriage begs payment: pay for the husband to take the woman (cow)
off the hands of her father, as father grows tired of the girl-gone-woman (cow)’s
need to be fed? s

Experiments in Revision, Part 4

Lisa McCool-Grime Senior Poetry Editor Synthesis: This is not so much an act of combining as it is an act of harmonizing. Which parts of the previous drafts have shown themselves to be extraneous and unnecessary? Which parts augment and…

The Cantos

I hear Ezra Pound croaked without making a sound. No last rasp as his crooked legs crashed. I hear your aunt passed. I apologize. “I am nothing but bereft for her.” This is a chant & I realize 89% of…

Experiments in Revision, Part 3

Lisa McCool-Grime Senior Poetry Editor In this series we have thus far presented a long, action-loaded rough draft and then a total scrap-and-revise, tanka-inspired revision. This week’s installment is a list poem—a sister-shadow poem heavy with nouns; a counterpoint to…

robinhooding

Why I’ve got today This niggling feeling Like I’m The Principled Nazi Lieutenant With a Conscience defending A downed RAF pilot Of pure shamrock Irish stare (And this for fookin’ nuthin’: He’ll die, of course he will, shot In the…

Typewriter

Poetry by Whitnee Thorp

On Sundays we’d go over,
my grandmother and I, to see her ex-husband,
my grandfather, at his apartment a block away from ours.
On Sundays, the typewriter
would be in the same spot, at the head of the table,
covering a yellow smoke stained place mat.
He’d set a papyrus-thin white paper
through its clicking rounded black tongue x

she will disappoint you

Poetry by Kate LaDew

I am in my apartment, wondering if it’s time to go home, if it’s normal,
safe to see my parents so often, to waste money on two rooms that clutch with fingers.
reading the bible in short bursts, completing some prerequisite of childhood,
I listen as Jacob is close to blaspheming x

Q&A with Featured Poet Jake Sheff

“I haven’t thought about why there aren’t a lot of poems about being a father by male poets. I don’t know why that is. But (he laughts) I would be happy to be called one of the first poets to go into that area.”